


Rain Check

by mrwonderwoman (saete)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Also kind of, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Deaf Clint Barton, First Dates, Getting Together, M/M, Meet-Cute, Meet-Ugly, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-05-25 11:57:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14976701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saete/pseuds/mrwonderwoman
Summary: Clint gets caught in the rain leaving work one day and when he can't find his car, Phil tries to come to his rescue.





	1. Chapter 1

  

 

There's nothing like a cool refreshing rain shower on a warm spring day. The way everything slowly becomes greener; how the water soaks into the earth until it's all you smell; the way all the plants look perkier afterward. It's even better when you know one's coming and can prepare for it. There'd been people in the break room talking about it yesterday afternoon. The weatherman had mentioned it on the news this morning. There'd been clouds gathering above the commuter traffic at 8:30. And Clint's the idiot who forgot his umbrella in the car because that's where it lives. Story of his life. 

But standing here in the foyer of the Humanities building isn't going to get him home any faster and it isn't going to feed Lucky. He sighs. Pops out his aids and puts them on the inside pocket of his messenger bag. Adjusts the strap over his shoulder. Then takes a deep breath and pushes open the plate glass doors. 

Someone else might describe the sound of the downpour as  _deafening_  but, Clint's, y'know,  _deaf_  and he can still kind of hear the roar. He's trying to ignore the other sensory aspects of the experience though because thinking about how rapidly cold and wet he's becoming won't exactly make him feel any better.

Clint keeps a brisk pace on the empty sidewalk that leads out to the parking lot. There are a few people across a wide patch of green between buildings but it's one of those awkward times of day when everyone's already in class or they've gone for the day.

He makes it to the edge of the teacher parking lot before he comes within shouting distance of someone. They've appeared around a corner just ahead of him. And, oh, it's actually someone Clint recognizes. Professor ... something that starts with a C. 

Hmm.

 

He's the guy that laughs quietly from across the room when Clint makes puns during faculty meetings. And apparently, he's got a great ass. They've sat at the same table during a few faculty lunches and their friends are friends, but Clint doesn't really know him very well personally. He thinks he might be on close terms with Dean Fury but -

Oh, great, with those few thoughtless seconds of woolgathering, he's accidentally,  _awkwardly_  caught up to the guy. He should have realized he either needed to speed up or slow down to avoid this - obviously someone with an umbrella won't be matching the rushed pace of someone who's being soaked and trying to get to shelter. 

He turns with an apologetic smile on his face ready to deliver an awkward laugh and speed his pace to get out of this guy's way but is met, to his surprise, with a subdued smile and finds the guy holding out his umbrella between them a little so that there's enough room for Clint to stand under it beside him. 

"Oh- thank you," Clint says, wondering whether he's hit awkward or charming. It's always a roll of the dice, and he's never quite managed to nail down the delivery of one over the other when he's caught by surprise. He glances down at his feet and adjusts his bag, looking back up just in time to pick up on the shape of his mouth saying the tail end of something. 

Clint shakes his head, "S-" he catches himself in time to keep from apologizing. "I'm deaf," he says, hoping he's not too loud for close quarters and not too quiet to be heard over the rain. "If you wanna talk, you've gotta face me so I can read your lips."

"Of course," the guy says, and shit, shit, what's his  _name_? He gestures loosely towards the side of his own head, "I didn't realize you weren't-" he cuts himself off. "You normally wear hearing aids, don't you?"

Clint nods, "Took 'em out because of the rain."

The man nods in understanding. "Until I saw yours I didn't know they came in colors like purple."

Clint smiles a little, "It's my favorite." He extends his hand, "I'm Clint."

The guy takes it, "I know."

"And you're Professor Coulson," Clint adds, the name hitting him suddenly and out of nowhere. He hopes he doesn't actually sound proud. 

The genial smile brightens the slightest bit, "Phil," he says, letting go of Clint's hand. 

"Phil," Clint repeats, to make sure he's read the word right. When he doesn't get corrected, Clint decides to stick with it. He shakes his head a little, "So - what were you trying to tell me that I missed?"

"I was offering to walk you to your car, if you'd like."

"Really? That'd be great - I-," he stops himself, "If you don't mind, I mean."

Phil doesn't so much as shake his head but his expression is reassuring, "Not at all. What are we looking for?"

"Um," Clint runs a hand through his wet hair, looking out to the parking lot to buy his blank mind a moment for recovery. "A, uh, a truck. Sorry," he turns back to Phil, "sometimes I still forget I don't have a motorcycle anymore."

"I'd say that I bet you don't miss it on days like today, but I drive a convertible and, well, I wouldn't trade her for anything."

The casual " _her_ " is a little funny to Clint but he doesn't make a remark.

"I miss it a little. The truck's alright, but driving something you love is a pretty great feeling - especially when you take care of it yourself."

Phil smiles like he recognizes something in what Clint's saying, "Exactly."

"I gave up my bike when I accidentally adopted a dog. Can't exactly give him a helmet and tell him to hold on, y'know?"

"Accidentally adopted?"

Clint shrugs, "I found him outside my building looking like an ASPCA ad, and I couldn't just leave him there. I brought him to the vet and they fixed him up and the next thing I knew they were sending me home with him and some meds and an armload of supplies. I don't mind so much. He tries to steal my food and he's a little rough around the edges, but he's still the cutest thing you've ever seen."

"Got a picture?" Phil asks. 

Clint pulls out his phone and shows him the lockscreen, "Who can turn away a face like that?"

A grin spreads across Phil's face as he looks down at the picture then back up at Clint, "I know I'd be hard-pressed to." He's being really good about facing Clint when he speaks and Clint finds himself more than enjoying the focused attention. He tucks the phone back in his pocket.

"So, where are we headed?" Phil asks - because, right, they're going to his car. Except ...

"Um," Clint looks out at the parking lot again and stops in his tracks. Phil's paying attention enough to stop with him, but Clint doesn't dare look at his face yet. Because; shit. He's got no clue where he parked this morning. He looks across the sea of vehicles, hoping that one will catch his eye but his infallible sight is being obscured either by a large vehicle or the sheen of rain

"I-" he finally, guiltily, turns to face Phil, "I can't remember where my car is. But it's purple," he adds, like an idiot.

Phil seems unfazed, "I don't have anywhere to be right now; we can look." He starts to walk again. "A purple truck though - that shouldn't be too hard to find," he says. Which, of course - with Clint's luck - jinxes them.

When they step onto the asphalt, they're up to the soles of their shoes in the large puddle that is the entire parking lot. For the next five minutes, the two of them find themselves wandering around in the rain, the water sloshing around their feet and getting their shoes and the hems of their pants wet as they try to find Clint's truck. It's not awkward - they keep up the chitchat and Phil is really nice. But Clint's getting progressively more embarrassed about how dumb it is that he's lost his car in what is really kind of a small lot.

 

The anxiety of embarrassment is getting worse, though, and it's making Clint flustered. They're on minute seven of the search when he really starts to lose it. Because, wow. Wow. They've gone from one end of the parking lot to the other and - _nothing_. This is getting more mortifying by the second. And it's totally all in Clint's head because Phil genuinely seems like he doesn't mind but it doesn't stop him from continuing to offer Phil an out.

 

"I'm so sorry," Clint says as they stop at the last row of cars, "I can't believe I don't know where it's parked. You should just go home." 

"It's okay, I promise - I'd like to help you if you'll let me." And jeez, he's being such a gentleman about this.

"Really, I don't want to make you stay out here and keep going in this mess," Clint says. 

"Nonsense, we've looked for this long, we're bound to find it any second." Clint must really look miserable because Phil gives him a kind look and jerks his head back the way they've just been, "Come on, let's retrace our steps."

 

The rain has started to blow at enough of an angle to hit their knees and get the bottom half of their pants damp. The first distant roll of thunder sounds and Clint hopes Lucky's doing okay still without company. The shapes around them have started blurring together a little and they're having to step carefully so that they don't slip or fall. Clint thinks that if one of them did, they'd potentially have to grab and hold onto the other person's arm for stability. But he's not enough of a bad person to actively wish for it.

Twice they trudge the length of the rows, trying to spot it from the ends, and when that doesn't pan out, they give in to methodically walking each row one by one.

"This is a lot more detective work than I expected when I woke up this morning," Phil says, and Clint knows it's a joke but he still feels guilty.

"I'd consider it more of a search-and-rescue," Clint jokes back. "But I'm starting to feel bad for having you help me."

"I offered," Phil protests, "And what sort of rescuer would I be if I abandoned you now?"

"One with some common sense and self-preservation?" Clint suggest. Phil just laughs it off.

Clint's doing a pretty good job of keeping his anxiety contained but it's still there, and now they're halfway back across the parking lot. With the wind and the risk of falling, it's kind of taking a while to keep going row by row. And that's really not helping Clint feel better about taking up Phil's time.

 

"Listen, we've been out here for like fifteen minutes. I'll be fine on my own if you want to go."

"I'll leave if you want me to," Phil says, and Clint believes he would, "but I'm going to feel bad about it. So don't keep suggesting it for my sake."

But Clint doesn't know how to say ' _you’re a cute guy and I’m trying not to look even more ridiculous in front of you and I’m never going to find my car if you keep trying to help me look_ ,' so they just keep wandering. It gets worse as Phil keeps making interesting and polite conversation, because again, Clint is flustered - he feels like his responses are weak and dumb and he hopes to God Phil doesn't think the same. Although with as nice as he's being, it's hard to imagine him doing so.

They keep slogging along and make it three-quarters of the way back across the lot when Clint decides he just needs to give up before he inevitably does something to make this even more humiliating. He's about to pretend he left something in the building so he has a reason to make Phil leave without embarrassing either of them when Phil touches his elbow.

Clint can't help looking down at the contact before he looks at Phil's face.

"Is that it?" he says, and lifts his hand from Clint's arm to point across the way.

Clint turns to look, and there, blending right in between a black SUV and a black van is his dark purple truck.

"Thank God," Clint sighs. He turns to Phil again, who's smiling with a touch of pride. Clint's ready to blush with all that warm attention on him.

"Come on," Phil says, gently taking his elbow again and escorting him to his car.

Clint fumbles through his pockets for his keys but Phil stands beside him patiently holding the umbrella.

"You're a life-saver," Clint tells him gratefully, relief letting his smile come easy.

"I thought we'd already established that," Phil says. And God, he's charming.

"Seriously. And you're great company, too." His grin turns self-depreciating, "If I hadn't been such an idiot, this is the part where I'd ask for your number." Something crosses Phil's features and Clint looks away, "But, uh, anyways. Thanks for all the help. The umbrella," he grins, looking up to make eye contact once more as he pops open the car door, "I'll see you around, yeah?"

 

Phil nods, a little absently, like he's thinking about saying something. So still wearing a smile, Clint opens the door the rest of the way and looks towards the interior before Phil can try to say anything else. He only realizes after the door shuts that Phil's held the umbrella over the lip of the door to keep him dry just that little bit longer as he'd been getting in. A warm little bubble crops up in his stomach. 

Phil steps back as Clint starts the engine and returns Clint's wave after he pulls out of the parking space.

 

Clint drives carefully and gives his dog a long hug when he gets home.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is based on embarrassingly true events, except I didn't know the guy who escorted me and I actually insisted that he should leave me before I found my car, which I saw all of fifteen seconds after he walked away. Anyways, I didn't get a date out of it but I also didn't get sick and I realized months later that this would be a good meet-cute idea. And here we are.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

The best soup in town that Clint doesn't make himself comes from a Chinese place a few blocks from the university. The only time he ever really gets it though is when he's out of groceries and/or doesn't have the energy to cook - both of which usually happen at once whenever he gets sick.

Today is one of those days.

He's inside the Humanities building, on his way back to his office with a double portion of said soup when he stops in the faculty break room to grab some crackers. It's empty except for somebody in the far corner at the coffee maker, but they're hunched over facing away and don't really register. Clint sets his bag down on the counter. He goes to reach for the cabinet when he has to stop mid-way to catch a sneeze. 

"Bless you," says the guy in the corner. 

"Thank you," Clint replies absently, moving again to open the cabinet. 

"Clint?" says the guy. 

Clint looks over his shoulder to find that the guy in the corner is - "Phil," he says, surprised. "Hi."

"You alright?" Phil asks, and Clint hopes it just because of the sneeze and not because he looks like as much of a wreck as he feels. 

"Yeah, mostly. I just- uh, I woke up yesterday morning after- ... everything. The parking lot," he says, awkward and stilted. "And I guess I caught a cold from being out in the rain." He stifles a smile, "You might even say I'm a little under the weather."

Phil laughs the same quiet, private laugh that echoes the puns Clint makes in faculty meetings. At close proximity, it just about lights Clint up inside. 

"Some rescuer I turned out to be," Phil remarks. He sounds a little rougher than Clint expected, maybe, but it's still a nice voice. Clint shakes his head and starts to say something about Phil saving him from being worse off. 

And then Phil sneezes. 

"Excuse me," he tacks on, casual and polite like he hasn't just filled Clint back to the brim with guilt.

"Did I get you sick?" Clint asks, appalled.

Phil shakes his head, "Maybe being out in the rain didn't help, but I think it's just a bug going around the school right now."

Clint can't help but feel like he's just saying that to be nice. God, of course he gets rescued by a handsome, interesting guy and ends up giving him a cold. Way to go, Barton.

"We probably both would have caught it one way or another eventually," Phil adds. It's mostly a useless placation.

"I can't believe I got you sick." Clint wants to cover his face but he also doesn't want to get his hands germ-y. "Except I totally can because we were out there forever getting soaked to the bone because _I_ couldn't find three tons of purple metal. I'm so sorry."

“I feel partially responsible. I- um,” Phil clears his throat, “I don’t know about you, but I, at least, was a little distracted while we were looking.”

“You were?” Clint asks. He'd thought Phil had been pretty into their conversation and at least a little into him. But maybe he missed a lot more than he realized from not being able to hear Phil’s tone. Oh fuck, that makes his parting comment so much worse - he’d openly confessed to wanting to ask the guy out. Phil had just been a nice guy doing him a favor and Clint had to go and make it weird. 

"Oh, I-  Sorry, I- I couldn't tell from the conversation. Sometimes it's hard to get a read with-" he finishes the sentence with a quick, awkward tap to his aids. "And you kept talking and so I thought - y'know, you were ..." he drifts off before he can say something else incriminating and naively hopeful. 

Phil softly clears his throat and ducks his gaze for a moment, "I was _referring_ to the conversation."

It takes Clint a long moment of eye contact to consider the implications of the gentle emphasis. 

"Oh. Oh! Wait- Did- Do you mean  _me_?  _I_  was distracting you?" - which is maybe coming on strong but also it sounds a little impossible.

Shockingly, Phil's face pinks. 

"You were so quick to not ask for my number," he says, his voice soft and sure, "that I didn’t get a chance to ask for yours.”

Clint's thrown for a loop, "You- ... you were going to ask for my number?"

"I thought we got on pretty well," he says with the same persisting surety. "We did a lot more looking at each other than looking for the car," he points out. And wow, that's something Clint hadn't even considered. "With having to look at each other to talk, I mean," Phil adds, but ... it doesn't sound like that's something he minded doing. Clint's a little flattered that he'd been paid as much attention as he'd been paying. Even now, Phil seems patient and interested, which is a double-edged sword, because Clint's nervous but he doesn't want to let an opportunity escape if there's actually one here.

"Do you want some soup?" he blurts.   
God. Just once he'd like to not be a total mess. He tries to cover by indicating his takeout and adding, "I could probably eat all this by myself if I tried, but, uh, I'd rather share it with you."

Phil seems taken aback by the offer, but where it had been cooling off, his face gets a little pink again. 

"That- that sounds great. I didn't bring anything today so I was just going to get myself some coffee and work through lunch."

"You can't not eat," Clint says, "'Feed a cold, starve a fever,' right?" And Phil looks a little amused by the proverb.

Clint leans towards the counter a little and reaches up to rub the back of his neck, "To be fair though, I was planning on going back to my office to grade some papers, and, I dunno about you, but grading's always easier when I've got company. Or, it feels that way." He shrugs one shoulder, "'S more fun for sure. You could bring some and we could work together if you want?"

Phil smiles enough to show his teeth, "That sounds great, too." 

Something lifts inside Clint, "Awesome. I, uh, I'm room 216." He points his thumb towards the hall. "Finish making your coffee and stuff..." He starts to back towards the open door.

"Did you get what you came in here for?" Phil asks politely.

"Oh - right. Crackers." He steps back up to the cabinets to grab a sleeve of them and realizes that he'd almost left his container of soup, too. Blushing, he turns back around, "Thanks, uh, yeah. I'll see ya."

"Okay," Phil says and he's still smiling, but it's friendly so Clint thinks it's a good thing.

"Bye," he adds unnecessarily as he crosses the threshold and starts back down the hall.

Once he's back in his office, it only takes a minute to clear enough space for Phil to be able to sit and work. He didn't think to grab bowls while he was in the kitchen, but he'd gotten two vats with the intention to eat one now and save the other for dinner. This is better.

He's just set them out with napkins and the extra spoons he'd been given when Phil knocks on his open door.

"Come on in," Clint tells him, going back around to the other side of his desk. Well, desk is a strong word - it's really just an blotter on a wide table that's strong enough to hold up his computer and an inbox for files.

"Thanks," Phil says, setting down his mug. When he lays down the armful of papers, Clint laughs - Phil has an oversized box of Kleenex balanced on them. Clint reaches out and flicks the big pump bottle of hand-sanitizer he keeps on his desk.

Phil huffs a laugh too, "Glad to see we're both taking the necessary precautions." He takes off his blazer to hang on the back of his chair and starts to roll his sleeves up. Clint nearly swallows his tongue. He looks away from the contrast of white sleeves on tan skin, and distracts himself with tucking into his soup.

There's no shortage of conversation as they eat. Clint learns that Phil teaches multiple sections of American History and at Clint's prompting, he even talks a little about his specialization in global WWII history. At one point Clint actually finds himself leaning forward with his chin propped on one hand, listening raptly as Phil geeks out. He's proud that he knows enough to contribute a little to the conversation and it goes on until Phil realizes how long he's been talking for and cuts himself off mid-sentence with an apology.

Clint insists he hasn't minded; "I've been enjoying myself - promise"

Phil clears his throat and balls up his napkin, "It's probably a good stopping point anyways. I really need to get to work on this grading. Do you have office hours I'm cutting into?"

"Nope, I had a class this morning but I'm only here to work this afternoon. I know if I go home I'm more likely to do chores and keep putting this off," he taps his inbox.

"Me too," Phil says. Clint is really starting to appreciate how many points of coincidence they share.

He stands and collects their trash, "So what did you bring to work on?"

Phil leans back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest and stares down the pile of papers, "Essays on propaganda related to the agendas of different administrations. It's one of my more fun projects but ... I'm going to blame being sick for my total lack of interest in reading them this time around."

"C'mon, Phil," Clint says, because by now Phil's dropped enough hinting comments for Clint to comfortably tease him about this, " - just because my students are perfect doesn't mean I won't be nice and listen to you vent about how terrible yours are."

"Perfect?" Phil intones skeptically.

He shrugs, "As close as you get with college kids anyways."

"Do tell," Phil says and leans forward to brace his arms against the edge of the desk. His beautiful watch gleams in the light and Clint does his best not to look at the firm, bare skin.

Clint talks proudly about the crowd he's got this semester. He's hit the jackpot and gotten a majority of people who are outspokenly interested in studying the topics he's teaching. Phil's interest piques obviously when Clint tells him he teaches both ASL and Creative Writing. He asks engaging questions about Clint's curricula and Clint is all too happy to brag on his students and the projects he's gotten to read this semester.

"It's just great to have a job where I get to encourage people to do what they want and watch them get better at something they already do well. And then I get to read their cool story ideas and watch their " _silent movie_ " projects ... It's great." He can feel how soft and proud his smile is, but who can blame him?

He glances up through his lashes where he's hunched over a paper and his stomach drops a little. Something in Phil's steady expression makes Clint feel suddenly self-aware and - expressly attractive. But that's gotta be his imagination because ... well, just because. _He’s_ the dork who’s attracted to nerds, here. When is he gonna learn to stop projecting?

“It’s all about connection,” he adds, feeling the need to fill the silence, “I like getting to share experiences and, y'know, seeing the progress I help them make.”

There’s another full moment of quiet that Clint doesn’t know what to make of, but he doesn’t dare look up again. 

“I think,” Phil says finally, “that’s exactly what teaching’s supposed to be.”

Clint bites his lip to hold back a broad smile but nods his head. 

There's a beat of hesitation, like both of them are holding back on saying something and then Phil says, "The silent movies - those are for the ASL class?"

Clint falls into an easy explanation - an overeager version of the one he gives to his classes when he assigns the project - and tells Phil about his favorite ones he's gotten over the years. 

They both have pens in their hands and seem to be making actual notes every now and then but even as papers get shuffled, the conversation only lulls and never really stops. It helps that they're both willing to allow pauses when the other actually needs more than a moment to read or write.

By the time five o'clock rolls around, the two of them have barely gotten any work done. Or, what they've managed at least is just very disappointing considering how long they've been here. Maybe the only reason they notice what time it is happens to be because a door in the hall bangs closed and someone down the way can be heard yelling goodbye. 

Phil sits up a little straighter, "It's probably time to pack it in."

"Yeah..." Clint says looking at the foreboding stack of papers he still hasn't touched. He bites his lip as he weighs the pros and cons of what he knows he's about to do. "Hey, I don't know about you, but when I'm sick I mostly just eat soup." He rubs the back of his neck. "I was gonna go home and make some. Fresh bread, too. Would you- uh, would you like to come over for dinner and keep grading together?"

Clint barely registers the eager nod Phil gives him as he stands and starts gathering his things because his immediate reaction is asking Clint, "You cook?"

And then the next thing he knows, they're in the parking lot at his truck and Phil's smiling as he talks about living in a place with a real kitchen. He comes to a reasonable but sudden stop when he realizes he's gotten carried away. 

Phil picks up as easily as Clint leaves off, though; "You've built it up enough that I'm excited to see it put to work." He smiles a little more, "But that may or may not be because I suspect you're a great cook." 

"I could just know where to get really good takeout," Clint says because he's a smart aleck and a flirt. 

Phil looks at him knowingly, "Not many amateurs would care as much as you do about their kitchens. You make in sound like an art."

Self-conscious, Clint tries to divert the conversation, "Here, lemme give you my address." He ducks his head and starts to fish for a pen.

"Would you mind just texting it to me so I can put it in my maps app?"

Clint laughs, "Gee, Phil, if you wanted my number you could've just asked for it."

"Okay," Phil says, "Could I have your number?"

Clint looks up from his phone at Phil's face but he doesn't seem like he's making fun of him. 

"If you don't want to give it to me, I won't ask again." His expression is genuine but a little - amused? "I'm kind of hoping you haven't been trying to make me take a hint but this is the third time I've asked for it."

Clint fish-mouths for a moment then blurts, "Second." Phil's expression turns a little confused. Clint clarifies; "You asked me two times. This is the second." He clears his throat, "I- uh, I didn't give you a chance the first time, remember?" he asks, a wry smile cropping up at the end. He reaches slowly for the phone in Phil's hand and exchanges it with his own, and tries to stifle a wide, private smile as he programs his number in. 

He takes his own back and texts Phil the address. 

"It's only about a fifteen minute drive from here," Clint tells him. 

"Alright," Phil says, pocketing his phone and stepping back from the car door, "I'll see you in about fifteen minutes then."

"Okay," Clint says and lets his smile escape a little as he opens the door and gets in. 

The warm feeling bubbles back up in his stomach again, but this time, he's much happier to wave at Phil as he pulls away. Hopefully Clint's got enough of a head start on him to tidy up his place a little. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided I didn't like the second chapter and I was going to give myself a few days to finish editing but as soon as I posted the first one, I got an idea to work it out and everything resolved itself.  
> And by "everything resolved itself" of course I mean that I finished this and re-read it for the millionth time and decided that I want to write an actual solid conclusion with sickfic fluffiness. So watch for that, and maybe a ratings change if Phil turns out to be the kind of girl who puts out on the first date.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cue obligatory Dog Cops marathon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this only qualifies as a sickfic in the narrowest of terms but they're sick and taking care of each other so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Thank you all for your patience!

 

 

Lucky's waiting by the front door when Clint gets home. He jumps up and starts dancing around Clint's feet as he shuts the door and drops his bag and keys. Clint bends over and kisses the top of his head, rubbing behind both ears once his hands are free. 

"Hey, buddy," he says, reaching down to scratch his chest, too. "Let's quick clean up this place and get you some food."

Lucky is happy to run around with him as he picks up some stray pieces of laundry and puts away the few handfuls of mail, magazines, dishes, and video-game controllers that are scattered across the living room and kitchen. More than supportive, he's even a little helpful in that when Clint touches all of the toys in an attempt to corral them to one corner of the room, Lucky only holds one hostage despite the fact that toy-touching usually means play time. He's also very understanding when Clint doesn't want to participate in the game of keep-away that he tries to start with the hostage toy. 

The few minutes of tidying settle Clint and after he's poured Lucky some kibble, he washes his hands to start setting up dinner. He knew he had the makings for bread, but he's really glad to discover that he's got just the right ingredients left in his fridge and pantry to make some decent soup like he promised. 

A knock comes to the door as Clint is pulling a pot out of the drawer beneath his oven. Lucky's ears perk up but he finishes slurping every last crumb from his bowl before charging out of the kitchen towards the entryway. Clint follows him out and finds him waiting, eager but quiet like the good dog he is. At least until Clint opens the door more than an inch. Then he's bumping at Clint's knees, trying to see who's here - probably hoping it's the pizza delivery guy. 

"Hi," Clint says, trying to politely make eye-contact with Phil and reach down with one hand to hold Lucky by the collar while he also blocks him with his legs. His hand makes a few empty grabs before it catches. 

"Don't let the welcome committee scare you off," he adds as he backs up so that Phil can cross the threshold and come in. Phil shuts the door behind him and goes down on one knee right away. He stretches his hands out towards the wiggly beast, obviously unafraid of enthusiasm, slobber, and any hair that might get on his suit. 

"This is Lucky," Clint tells him. He gives the hold he's got some slack and Lucky surges forward but only until he's almost nose-to-nose with the new guest. His snuffling is loud and his good eye is wide and focused on his object of interest. 

"Hello," Phil says to him, "Hi there." His voice doesn't lilt or turn into baby talk, but it goes a little soft around the edges. It's kind and happy and Clint feels himself grinning. Privately, he thinks that it would be nice if at some point that tone got directed at him. But just having a handsome man who likes him on his floor, playing with his dog is already pretty great. 

Phil tilts his face to look up at Clint, "He's very sweet."

Clint's stomach flutters a little and he just stands there dumbly for a minute, smiling as he watches Phil go back to scratching behind ears. 

"Uh, um. Thank you," he manages when he realizes he should respond. "I mean, yeah. Yeah, he is." He smiles again, "Keep your guard up when there's some food around, though - he turns into a bandit and a beggar."

Phil's laugh is bright and round at that. He strokes Lucky's head once more and stands. 

"Now that it's got plenty of dog hair all over it, can I take your jacket for you?" Clint asks like a good host. It'll feel a little formal if Phil wants to keep it on, but he can at least offer.  

Phil looks down at himself and scoffs. "I knew the risk when I got down there." He starts to unbutton it and hands it to Clint. Clint goes to hang it up in his front closet only to turn around and find that Phil's rolled his sleeves up again.  _Unf_.

"I'm sorry if taking more than fifteen minutes was inconvenient," he says to Clint, "but I wanted to give you a little time in case you needed some before having unexpected company show up."

"Thanks - I did. Kinda need it, I mean." He heads into the kitchen and Phil follows after him, "I'd started to set everything up but I didn't get very far. You want anything to drink? I think I've got, uh, probably just water and coffee. Maybe some tea ... somewhere." Nat might've brought a box and left it at some point, he thinks. 

Phil shakes his head, "I'm fine for now, thanks."

Clint moves to the sink and starts to wash his hands. "I- uh, I didn't really think about it earlier; I don't know if we'll get to eat the bread tonight - it takes a while to bake - but if you're still here in three hours, you're welcome to share it with me." Then, before Phil can try being polite - before he can dash Clint's hopes by saying something about leaving soon, Clint adds, "It'll be a nice snack to have in the middle of grading."

"Sounds perfect," Phil says as he follows Clint's lead and starts to wash his own hands. "What can I do to help?"

"You any good at chopping vegetables?" Clint asks as he goes over to the bread-maker. He starts assembling his ingredients. 

"I'm passable," Phil replies, coming up beside him. Clint hadn't realized until just this moment how close the two of them would be standing if they were both going to work in the limited counter space. He swallows audibly but maintains most of his composure.

"Then hop to it, soldier," he quips.

Phil huffs a laugh. His near perpetual state of amusement around Clint feels kind of special, and Clint can't quite put his finger on why that is. He's enjoying it though, that's for sure. 

Phil picks up the knife and starts cutting. "I actually was in the army, you know," he says. "It's how I paid for college."

"No shit - me too," Clint says with a grin, delighted by the shared similarity. "Where were you stationed?"

Phil tells him about his time in Afghanistan - as a freakin'  _Ranger_  - with relative ease and openness. He reveals that this is where he knows Dean Fury from, and Clint can't even say he's all that surprised.  

Privately, Clint is glad that being in the army has allowed him to share this moment with Phil. In Clint's experience, it's a lot harder to try and talk with any real sense of understanding about your past to people who haven't been in the middle of a war zone. Just- it gives a foundation to their knowledge of each other, a little. 

Phil asks about his career, and seems impressed and engaged when Clint answers that he was a sniper. He asks a little about it, and Clint doesn't deflect immediately. Clint even hints at his archery hobby before circling back around to the service. 

They continue to talk about their own experiences as they work in tandem. 

Clint wonders if it's weird that he's enchanted by the confidence Phil has moving around someone else's kitchen. Moving around  _Clint's_  kitchen. His motions are controlled and fluid. Precise. He's got a lot more patience than uncertainty going on. And it's pretty hot. Clint is very much aware of his own competence-kink. 

Beyond that, Clint can feel himself being watched for more than just direction as they work. 

It's flattering - the sense he gets of Phil's gaze lingering on him. He only manages to catch it and make eye contact twice. But it's enough to get his hopes up for the way the rest of this evening might play out. 

Because, sure, Phil has given a lot of indication that he wants  _something_  to happen between him and Clint tonight, but this still feels like their interactions are in casual friendship territory. Which is fine. Clint is very much enjoying himself. He can figure out how to try and bridge the gap as the evening goes on.

Preparing the food feels like it happens quickly, with Phil keeping him company. They transition seamlessly from the counter-space to the dining table with their bowls of soup. 

Phil is interested and interesting and attentive. He has a bunch of good stories that keep Clint laughing through dinner, and Clint gives as good as he gets. Lucky hovers nearby, drawn in by the scent of chicken broth and hoping for scraps, but he eventually wanders off when he realizes there isn't anything coming his way. 

Clint feels wildly comfortable. And while literally being on his home turf is a big part of that, Phil is truly putting him at ease. Except for a few carefully covered coughs and sneezes, he almost forgets that they're both sick.  

It's cozy to sit over a warm dish with good company. Nourishing for the soul and stomach both.

Their conversation comes to a lull as Clint finishes his soup. He sits back in his seat and finds a moment to be flattered at how heartily Phil had eaten dinner. 

"Are you finished?" Phil asks, and starts to reach for Clint's empty bowl. Before he can, Clint stands and pulls it towards himself. 

"I've got it," he says, being sure to smile as he swiftly gathers all the dishes. 

"You cooked," Phil protests. 

"We  _both_ cooked," Clint tells him, "and you're my guest. I'm washing."

"Then I can dry," Phil says, waiting for Clint to move past his chair before he stands. For the moment, Phil can't see him, so Clint allows himself a silly-feeling smile as he turns on the little radio he's got on the counter. He puts the dishes in the basin of the sink and starts to soap up a sponge. 

Just like with everything else tonight, Phil seamlessly finds his place next to Clint. The quiet sounds of washing and the radio fill the silence. Clint catches Phil mouthing along to the lyrics a little and it adds to his happiness. He would have turned it on earlier but it kind of makes conversation more difficult with his aids when the sound's all in the same space. 

As Phil dries the silverware, Clint grabs the cookware from the stove and counters and brings them over to wash as well. If he stands just a little bit closer than before on purpose, well- 

"Is this a date?" Phil asks. 

The clatter of the pots into the sink punctuates Clint's shock. He swallows hard instead of clearing his throat, and manages to keep his shoulders from hunching. 

"It, uh, it can be," he manages to say. He clears his throat. "I'd ... I'd be really happy if it were." 

"Me too." 

Clint feels himself blushing and hazards a glance to the side. 

Phil's already looking at him and he's wearing the warmest expression; "I'd also be really happy if you'd let me take you out on an actual date somewhere, too."

"Oh," Clint says like the idea is startling. Which, it isn't really - he's just not used to having his big romantic aspirations realized so quickly. So directly. "I- Yes. Yeah, that's- that'd be great." He only just manages to cut himself off from continuing to ramble about what a wonderful idea he thinks that is. 

"Great," Phil echoes as he dries the last plate and hands the dishtowel to Clint. "Are we going to be working in here?" He’s already picking up the leftover-filled Tupperware container and putting it in the fridge.

"Um, yeah," Clint says, trying to keep up with the gear shift. "I'll go ahead and wipe down the table if you want to grab your stuff?"

Phil nods and goes back out into the hallway. Clint dries his hands and wets a clean cloth to quickly run it over the tabletop. He uses the brief moment of mindlessness to try and wrap his head around what a real date with Phil might look like. Dinner at a nice restaurant? Probably. Or a movie maybe?

Oh God, Phil totally strikes Clint as the type of guy who could go dancing and be good at it. Clint would die from the charm of that. 

There's a sneeze from the entryway. 

"Bless you," Clint calls out. He goes ahead and turns the volume on the radio way down. 

Phil comes back into the room with Lucky following him. "Thank you," he replies. He's brought Clint's bag with him as well and Clint's stomach flutters the littlest bit at the casually thoughtful gesture. Phil sets them both on the tabletop and Clint takes the seat across from him so that they both have room to spread their papers out. As Phil sits, their knees brush. Lucky circles the table and flops down on the tile beside Clint's chair. Clint leans over to scratch behind his ears and when he looks up, Phil's wearing glasses. It throws Clint for a loop momentarily because:  _hot_. But he manages to get a hold of himself before Phil catches him staring. 

They both seem intent on actually getting some work done, because neither of them tries to start up conversation. Clint has trouble keeping quiet on the best days and he can't refrain from the occasional comment, but it isn't really more than that. The radio keeps them company and the most noise either of them makes is the occasional cough or sneeze. 

Lucky eventually gets up and heads out to the living room. Or maybe to Clint's bedroom for a nap, but Clint thinks he hears the sound of a squeaky toy a few times. 

Phil shifts positions and their feet bump. They both look up and make eye contact but neither of them move away. 

Clint ends up continually sneaking glances at Phil. He's just ... so handsome. And Clint loves the way his glasses frame his face and add to the focused expression he's wearing. He's thinking about how nice Phil's hands look - broad and deft - when the bread-maker goes off. 

"Oh," Clint says, quickly standing to check the dough. It's perfect, and opening the lid makes the air smell even more amazing than it had already started to. Clint kind of burns himself getting the loaf out of the machine but that's to be expected. He slides it out onto a cutting board. 

"Want any?" he asks Phil over his shoulder.

"I'd love some," he says, putting down is pen and taking off his glasses. “Should I grab the soup?”

"You read my mind," Clint says with a grin. "Would you mind grabbing the butter, too?" He thinks there should be just enough left to go with this loaf. 

Phil pops the bowl in the microwave and brings the butter over to the counter. Clint slices both of them a piece and the two of them stand over the cutting board eating the first bites. It's melt-in-your-mouth delicious, and disappears quickly. Neither of them are above having a second serving before the soup has finished heating. 

The sound of the microwave running summons Lucky. The poor guy is definitely hoping for leftovers so Clint has pity and gives him a dog treat. He's unabashedly a sucker. 

Phil fetches the soup once it's ready and Clint gets new bowls. Their hands brush with the way the two of them are standing comfortably too close to each other as they serve their mid-grading snack. They manage to polish off a bowl each and most of the bread just standing at the counter. Clint hadn't want to get crumbs or spills on his students' papers and Phil hadn't made a move to sit down either. This is nicer anyways. Cozier. 

The cleanup is the same as before, but without any initial protest. Clint's favorite part is when Phil holds open the refrigerator door for him. He stands close enough that Clint hopes for a moment that Phil might put a hand on the small of his back.

The two of them jump right back into their coursework when they sit back down. Without the reward of fresh bread waiting anymore, it's a little hard for Clint to stay motivated, but he powers through. It's still nice to just sit here with Phil. But a burnout is imminent and coincidentally, as he’s thinking that, Phil sits back in his chair and takes off his glasses. 

"I think I've reached my limit for the day" he says, rubbing his eyes.

Clint was ready to be done just moments ago, but now he doesn't want this evening to end. 

"Maybe you just need a break," he suggests, not quite wanting Phil to leave but not wanting to make him feel like he  _has_ to stay either. He justifies his suggestion with the consideration that it still feels as though they've barely gotten anything done. Clint knows what deadlines are like and that the students probably want their work back and graded, ASAP.

"Oh?" 

"Um, like a TV break?" Clint checks his phone for the date, "I, uh, I know there's a  _Dog Cops_  marathon on. But if you're not into that we could check the guide to see what else there is."

Phil smiles. "I love  _Dog Cops_."

"Yeah? Awesome," Clint says. 

Phil takes off his glasses and stands before Clint has the chance to awkwardly direct him to the living room. Clint still leads the way, picking up the remotes as he walks past the media center and turning on the TV. And then he gets an idea. 

"Uh, be right back," Clint says. "Here, this one changes the channel," he says and hands a remote to Phil. "It's on 22."

He ducks down the hall and hopes that Lucky isn't sleeping on all of the blankets he owns. By some miracle, there's one left in his closet and it just so happens to be his nicest and softest one. 

When Clint comes back into the living room, Detective Fluffy is interrogating a witness and Phil's got his arm stretched over the back of the couch. Clint quietly takes a deep breath and decides that he's brave enough to sit under it. As he sinks into the cushion, part of him is halfway braced to move if Phil shows signs of discomfort or scoots away, but instead, he's pleasantly surprised as Phil sidles a little closer. 

“Mind if I share that?” he asks, nodding at the blanket. Clint shakes his head and spreads it over both their laps. He relaxes into the cradle of Phil’s arm when it slips to rest against his shoulders, and he scoots closer until they’re pressed side to side.  

Clint’s seen this episode – and this season – about a million times, but apparently so has Phil. They talk about their favorite characters and plot lines during commercial breaks and Phil doesn’t even mind when Clint’s commentary interrupts parts of the show. He seems just as invested in what Clint’s saying as he had during dinner. The cuddling makes this a million times better though. Up close like this, Clint can smell the remnants of his cologne, and he wants to wrap himself up in the moment.

Phil is so warm and comforting.

Clint doesn’t even notice it when he drifts off. 

When he wakes up, the first thing he sees is Buttons the Snitch, which means that sometime while he was asleep, the last season of  _Dog Cops_  finished and the next one started. The next thing he notices is how his ears hurt a little from leaving his aids in too long. He reaches up to take them off, but in doing so, he accidentally shrugs a weight off of his shoulder. 

It’s Phil’s arm. Phil is still here and he’s sitting with his head tilted back, propped against the back of the couch and pretty sound asleep. Lucky is laying with his head on Phil’s lap, snoring away. 

Clint tries to turn his head but hisses a little at a pain in his shoulder. He didn’t expect to get so crunched up just from having his head tipped over onto Phil’s shoulder, but his arm’s a little numb too. He stretches everything, trying to quietly get some feeling back and work out the soreness but the movement is still enough to disturb Phil. 

He wakes up all at once with a deep inhale. He rubs his eyes and blinks hard a couple of times. Lucky makes a grumbly noise and sits up when Phil starts to move though. 

“Oh,” Phil says, probably realizing where he is as he looks down at the dog holding him hostage. 

Clint laughs a little and it catches Phil’s attention. “Just give him a nudge. He’ll take the hint.” 

But Lucky chuffs at them and sits up on his own before jumping down onto the floor and stretching. As he trots off towards the kitchen, Clint gathers up the blanket that’s still draped over them just for something to do with his hands. 

"What does it mean that we both fell asleep on our first date?" Phil asks, breaking the silence. Clint looks up at him with what he can feel is a shy half-smile. 

"I think the romantic answer is that it says something about our comfort levels with each other. But it's probably more about how sick we are."

Phil, still sleepy looking and settled deep into the couch cushion, shrugs. "Why can't it be both?" he asks. 

Clint honest-to-God giggles. The smile it brings out of Phil is fantastic and soft enough that Clint doesn’t even think of feeling self-conscious. 

Phil sniffles. He looks down and checks his watch. “I need to head home – I’ve got a meeting in the morning.” 

Clint stands. “C’mon, I’ll help you get your stuff from the kitchen.” He holds his hand out and helps Phil stand up. 

There’s not much he can do besides hover supportively while Phil stacks and clips everything spread out on the table, so Clint takes the moment to tidy up his own papers and put them into his bag. 

When Phil hefts his bag onto his shoulder, Clint leads him out to the front room and gets his jacket from the closet. 

They both pause in the doorway as Clint hands it to him. 

“Thank you,” Phil says. “For having me over. I really enjoyed dinner.” 

“It was no problem – I mean you did half the work. I just hosted.” Clint rubs the back of his neck, feeling just a little awkward. “I- I really enjoyed tonight, too.”

Phil takes half a step closer. “If you’ll let me return the favor sometime, you’ve got my number.” 

Clint nods. He hopes he’s made it obvious how much he wants that next date. He doesn’t want Phil to have any doubts. Not when Clint’s such a sure thing. 

“I know we’re both busy,” Phil says, “but…” his gaze drops briefly – just a moment of hesitation - before he says, “The sooner I hear from you the better. If that makes a difference.”

Oh.

Clint does absolutely nothing to stop a wide, stupid grin from painting itself across his face. 

“It does,” Clint tells him. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

Phil’s answering smile is soft and has just a touch of sleepiness left in it. That softness is what captures Clint’s focus and what distracts him from realizing that Phil is leaning in. 

The kiss he presses to Clint’s cheek is maybe the gentlest thing ever, and when he leans out of Clint’s space he’s blushing, which is maybe the most amazing thing ever. Clint has to clench his fist to keep from doing that stupid movie-thing and reaching up to touch the spot on his face. 

Phil takes another step back and opens the door. 

“Goodnight, Clint,” he says as he crosses the threshold. 

Clint holds the door just to have another moment to stand there. “Goodnight,” he calls back, raising a hand in a semblance of a wave. 

Phil waves back, and then Clint lets him leave – stepping back into his apartment and shutting the door, still grinning wildly. He lets himself lean back against the door and revel a little.

The smile stays etched into his face as he finishes cleaning up a little and getting ready for bed, until his cheeks start to ache. He only realizes as he’s brushing his teeth that on top of being sick, talking all afternoon and evening has actually made his throat a little extra sore. It’s funny to him not just because he hadn’t noticed it at all earlier, but because he’s struck by the thought that a little soreness is a small price for such a great end to his day. And, he thinks as he tucks himself into bed with Lucky, it’s an even smaller price for what looks to be a great beginning. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm secretly thinking of adding a fourth chapter but I'm working on about a billion other things right now so I'm marking the story as complete for the time being.

**Author's Note:**

>  **If you liked this story you may also like:**  
> [Great Grandma's Soup](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16851673) by [B_Frizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Frizzy/pseuds/B_Frizzy)  
> [Ordinary Average Guys](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12454119) by [tisfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan)  
> [Blossom, & Bear Fruit ](https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/14066751) by [mrwonderwoman](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/fem_castielnovak/pseuds/mrwonderwoman)  
> 


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